Swings
by VegasGoddess
Summary: GSR Swings reminded her of her childhood; the good and the bad. It was a comfort zone of sorts for her. A place she escaped to when the yelling started, the alcohol was spilled and the punches thrown.


**Title:** Swings

**Summary:** Swings reminded her of her childhood; the good and the bad. It was a comfort zone of sorts for her. A place she escaped to when the yelling started, when the alcohol was spilled and the punches thrown.

**Spoilers:** Very vague for Nesting Dolls, and maybe a ghost of a spoiler for Daddy's Little Girl, but not really.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not mine, not mine. Nuh uh. No way, no how.

**Author's Note:** Let me start off with, I LOVE THIS STORY. I am incredibly proud of it, and I've literally written it in the past two hours. It's exactly the type of story I have read elsewhere on here and wished I could write. Somehow, I think I've pulled it off! It's also the first one I'm putting up that I wrote from an entirely new idea, and not something that's been sitting around in my brain or on my computer since 2007. It is brand spankin' new! YAY!

Oooh, and it's not edited either. I was too excited to wait for Lauren plus she was much too sleepy tonight so I figured I'd let her sleep. :) All mistakes are mine!

Also, this takes in season five. After Nesting Dolls, but before Committed. Also takes place after Grissom's birthday in mid-August but before Sara's in mid-September, just so their ages line up. I'm a little OCD about that. lol Pretend it all lines up, please! I would really love your feedback, so pretty pretty please read and review!

* * *

She couldn't sleep.

Again.

What else was new?

Sighing, Sara Sidle threw off the covers and sat up in bed. There was no point in lying here doing nothing, if she wasn't going to sleep. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, and rubbed her tired eyes. Insomnia was nothing new to her, but that didn't mean she liked it, or could handle it when it struck.

She really needed to sleep. It was her first time at home after pulling a double, and if she didn't come back to work looking rested, she was sure Grissom would send her straight back home, and she didn't want that.

Everything that usually helped her get some rest wasn't doing the trick tonight. None of her books or forensic journals held her interest, plus she was too tired to focus on the words on the page. The late night infomercials did nothing except add to her irritation. Counting sheep was childish and it had never worked anyway. She was currently out of tea and milk, and definitely not in the mood to go out and grab some. Her only other option was to stare at her four walls, and even that was driving her insane instead of lulling her to sleep. Frustrated, she got out of bed and padded barefoot down to her kitchen, desperate for something, anything, to help her fall asleep.

She automatically went to the fridge, even though she knew it was empty. Sighing, she sat down at her breakfast bar and dropped her head into her hands. A million thoughts ran through her mind, from her last case, to Grissom, to more inane thoughts of when she would have time to go shopping again and why the sky was blue. Her brain wouldn't shut off.

She just wanted to scream.

An idea popped into her brain out of nowhere, and she quietly let it form, considering its effectiveness. _Fuck it_, she thought. _Nothing else is helping_.

She got up from her stool, grabbed her keys from the counter, and was out the door in seconds.

The park was five long blocks away from her apartment, and anyone who saw her wandering around Las Vegas at this time of night would have thought her crazy, but because it was after three am, there was no one around to judge her.

She made it there in minutes, her walk determined. She was happy it was empty of any underage hooligans; she really didn't have the patience to deal with them, or any drunken teenagers. Thank god she was far enough away from the Strip to not have to deal with lost tourists, either.

Settling herself into a swing, she kicked off her flimsy flip flops and dug her toes into the sand. This was something she rarely let herself indulge in, but when she did it always brought a smile to her face.

Swings reminded her of her childhood; the good and the bad. It was a comfort zone of sorts for her. A place she escaped to when the yelling started, when the alcohol was spilled and the punches thrown. She shuddered involuntarily at the onslaught of memories that assaulted her.

Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she pushed gently off of the sand and curled her legs underneath her. She swung forward, then back. She repeated the action of curling and uncurling her legs, and soon she was swinging high. The wind caught her hair, and a smile ghosted across her face as she gave herself over to the sensation, and her memories began to fade back into the recesses of her mind. She would never admit it to anyone, but she loved swinging, even at the age of thirty-three.

She swung herself higher and higher, laughter bubbling inside her chest when she heard it. A rustle in the distance; the soft slap of soles against pavement. The sound was coming closer. It was dark in the park; the streetlight was burnt out and she cursed herself for leaving her gun at home.

As soon as she'd heard it, it was gone and she froze, dragging her feet in the sand as she came to an abrupt stop. The laughter died on her lips. She could sense someone standing near the edge of the path, hidden by the trees. She knew she should run, even if it was nothing, but she was rooted to the spot.

Whoever it was took a step forward and she tensed, until, "Sara?"

She nearly fell off her swing. "Grissom?" she whispered, stunned.

He walked tentatively towards her, and she could see the grey of his beard glinting from the moonlight. This was unbelievable.

"Yeah," he answered, stopping before he hit the sand surrounding the swings. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, her hands wrapped around the chains and her toes buried in the sand. "Couldn't sleep. What are _you_ doing here?"

He stepped gingerly onto the sand, seemingly aware of how easily it could seep into his loafers. He ambled towards her and sank into the swing next to her. "I couldn't sleep either."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments. The entire situation was too bizarre for either of them to comprehend, and frankly, Sara was too tired to even try. The high of being on the swing was starting to fade, and exhaustion was finally settling into her bones, just as she had hoped it would.

She lifted her feet from the sand, and again pushed off, ever so slightly so she swayed gently. She looked at Grissom out of the corner of her eye, and could see him staring at her bare feet. It was then she became aware of how little clothing she had on, and became self conscious. Before she could do or say anything pertaining to an escape, he whispered, "Your toes."

"I - what?"

"Your toes. They're..." he squinted in the moonlight. "They're green." His voice conveyed his surprise.

She looked down. Indeed they were. "Mhm," she mumbled.

"Why?"

She turned her head to look at him properly. "Why what?"

"Why are they painted green?"

She shrugged, confused at the absurdity of the conversation. She had not expected this of him. A lecture on how the body and mind needed sleep to function at its best, an order to go back home, maybe even a scolding for being out in the middle of the night dressed as she was. But she was receiving none of it. He was entirely focused on her toes.

He was looking at her expectantly, and she realized she hadn't given him an answer. "It's uh... my favorite color."

He nodded. "I never understood the need to paint one's nails and toenails," he said.

"I think it's a girl thing," she answered, a small smirk playing on her lips.

"Not necessarily," he countered. "Plenty of men have painted nails. Goths, emos, punks, even men in the gay community who take great pride in their appearance sometimes have their nails done with a clear polish. I've heard it also helps reduce nail biting."

"Have you ever bitten a nail with polish on it?"

"No," he replied. "But considering the ingredients, I can certainly imagine the taste and understand how it helps reduce the biting."

"Mhm," she answered. "I was never a biter. I wouldn't know."

"It's a lovely shade of green," he said, and she couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks. She hoped he couldn't see it.

"Uh... thank you."

"What's it called?"

"Lickety Split," she answered, a smile forming.

He cocked an eyebrow at her in amusement, but said nothing. She could see his smirk in the moonlight though, and her own smile grew. "And this particular shade is your favorite?" he asked after a moment.

"No, not really. I like darker shades, like pine green or emerald. This color is just obnoxious."

"Then why did you buy it?" he questioned.

"Impulse buy," she replied, digging her feet into the sand again. "And you can't return it, so I figured why the hell not and painted them. No point in letting it go to waste, plus no one will ever see them." He looked down at her toes again pointedly. "That was my logic, anyway."

"It's sound," he said, pushing himself off from the sand. For a moment he was behind her, out of her line of sight, but then he was back. He pushed off again, and started swinging gently. He didn't seem to want to go any higher than he already was, and had remarkable control over his height. She was impressed.

For the third time that night, she pushed off the sand and swung quietly next to him, matching his height, just a few feet off the ground. They swung together in the darkened park, surrounded by silence. After a few minutes he said to himself more than her, "I haven't been on a swing in almost forty years."

This gave her pause as she quickly did the math. "You haven't been on a swing since your were nine years old?"

He nodded slightly. "Not since my dad died."

She dug her heels in and came to a complete stop. "Grissom," she whispered. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

He shrugged as he came to a stop as well. "Not very many people do. I don't uh... broadcast it."

She lowered her eyes. "No, of course not. But still. I'm sorry, Griss."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She wanted to change the subject, to avoid another awkward silence descending upon them. "I love swings," she said. "Always have, ever since I was a kid."

"How come?" He had turned his swing ever so slightly towards her, the chains bending awkwardly.

"They were an escape from my parents. From the yelling, the fights, and the screams of my mother."

"Sara..."

She didn't let him finish his thought; she didn't want his pity. "They represent freedom for me," she continued. "Couldn't really run away permanently, so swings... gave me the illusion of running away for a little while."

She ducked her head. She hadn't meant to spill so much to him again, but now that he knew about her past she found herself almost unable to keep it all in. It was like the dam had cracked, and everything was fighting to come out and be heard. It was nice to have someone who knew that didn't judge her, but it didn't mean she needed to scare him off by dropping everything on him. She reigned herself in.

He surprised her though, by not saying anything about her family. Instead, he asked, "What were you running away from tonight?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered truthfully, catching his gaze to convey her honesty. "I couldn't sleep, and nothing else was working. Sometimes I come out here just to feel the high, and it tires me out enough to get home and collapse into bed. I was actually about to head home when you showed yourself."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to keep you."

"It's okay. I didn't mind." She gave him a small smile as she stood up from her swing. "I am really tired now though, so..." she trailed off.

"Of course." He too stood up. He tiptoed across the sand to the cement, and Sara bit back a laugh at how much he looked like a little boy. She bent down and picked up her flip flops, not bothering to put them back on. He shuffled his feet as she approached the sidewalk, looking anywhere but her.

"Grissom?" she finally asked.

"Do you, uh... do you want me to walk you home?" His blush crept above his beard and she smiled softly at him. He was too damn cute.

Waving her flip flops aimlessly she shook her head. "No, that's quite alright. I'm a big girl, I think I can handle myself." She smirked at him then, and watched as his blush deepened. "Thank you, though."

He nodded, but made no move to walk away. Neither did she. Finally, he spoke.

"Sara..."

"Yeah Grissom?"

"Get home safe, and uh... have a good night."

She smiled then, a real gap toothed smile she rarely shared with anyone anymore. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow night?"

He nodded. "Yes. Goodnight, Sara."

"Goodnight, Grissom."

She turned then, and started back towards home. She listened carefully, and after a moment she heard Grissom's footsteps start as well, in the opposite direction.

* * *

**-end-**

**Author's Note: **I have bright green nail polish named Lickety Split, and let me tell you, it is wholly obnoxious! XD


End file.
